Pink Gin
by Of Mice and Rabbits
Summary: Abridged characters used. When Bakura inherits an old pub one rainy day, he meets the man who's going to change his life...so long as he doesn't irritate him too much first! Thiefshipping, possible Deathshipping. AU, slightly cracky. Rating may go up.
1. Bitter and Zynthus

_So hey there, kids. Welcome to a world where Bakura owns a pub and Kaiba owns a chain store, where Ryou attends sixth form college and where Marik is taking a holiday... I don't even, OK. Enjoy._

**_Disclaimer:_** We do not own either Yu-Gi-Oh or YGOTAS, much as we would like to~

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Bakura ran clumsily down the street, balancing his map and umbrella awkwardly as he went. These streets were totally foreign to him and honestly, the bad weather wasn't helping. Squinting against the spitting rain, he began to count the doors of 'Aybrook Street' in the faint hope he might be nearby.

"Oh bother..." he muttered, flipping the map around again.

He had only a vague idea how long he'd been walking, and the rain was pissing him off more and more with each step he took. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to find this blasted place- shouldn't somewhere like a pub be a little more obvious? That would be something for him to change, he supposed, as soon as this bloody weather-

The rain turned to hail, and he swore loudly.

"Hey, over here!"

He squinted in the direction of the voice. He could just about make someone out, but, more importantly, they were standing underneath a small bus shelter that Bakura hadn't noticed before. He ran towards it and ducked inside.

"You're soaked," pointed out the stranger, "I mean, you have an umbrella. Why the fuck don't you use it?"

Bakura looked up and simply glared daggers at him.

He was around the same age as Bakura, with dark skin and pale blonde hair coming down to just below his shoulders. His eyes appeared to be purple- contacts, Bakura thought with amusement- and he was dressed in the most absurdly unsuitable clothes for the current weather; a pink shirt that exposed his midriff, trousers and gold earrings.

"I'm aware," muttered the soaked teen. He started to shake out his long hair, deliberately letting droplets of water flick all over the stranger, who looked positively insulted.

"What the frig are you doing? You're getting me all wet!"

"That's what she said."

"What do you mean by tha-oh. Very funny. I am laughing my pants off."

"I don't care."

"Well that was kinda insensitive."

Bakura said nothing. He stared at the falling hail, wishing it would stop.

"Where are you going?"

"None of your business."

"Hey, I'm just trying to be a good person. And trust me, that isn't something I usually do!"

"Well stop it. It's bloody irritating."

Silence.

"What's your name?"

"Why do you care?"

"I'm Marik Ishtar."

"I don't care."

"Just tell me your friggin' name before I start singing Lady Gaga. Because believe me, when I do that you will have no choice but to obey my sexiness!"

_...The sheer idiocy of this man is almost comical_, Bakura thought.

"Bakura. My name is Bakura. Happy?"

"No. Where are you going, Bakura?"

"To the pub. By _God, _I'm late. This stupid-" but here, Bakura broke off. The hail was lighter now. It would stop soon. He glanced at his watch. If he ran, he might make it...

"The pub? What for?"

"I own it."

"No way! You own a friggin' _pub?_ Now that is badass."

"I don't really see why- Marik, was it?"

"Yeah."

"Well. Nice knowing you, I suppose."

"What, are you leaving? Hey, wait-"

But Bakura was already half a block away, and his mind had moved to other things.

Bakura knocked four times against the door. His knuckles were raw from the cold and rain; he couldn't wait to get indoors.

From the outside, the pub looked rather grand, he thought. From the outside, the building looked in pretty good shape, and although the windows had misted up from rain, they looked fairly intact.

He swore loudly and banged against the door again.

"Hello?" he shouted impatiently over the sound of rain, "Look, will you please, just let me in? I'm freezing my arse off out here!"

The hail had more or less stopped by now but the rain seemed to be harder than ever. Bakura tightened his fists and tucked them furiously into his pockets. He was on time, surely.

"Where the hell are they...?" he muttered angrily, taking a few steps back from the door. He cocked his head, and peered at the doormat, which seemed slightly askew. At once he realised, and sighed heavily. This was verging on ridiculous.

"No bloody way..." he laughed quietly, _very_ irritated, lifting up the soaking brown doormat. For underneath, were a wet envelope and two sets of brown metal keys.

_How very kind of them _he thought, fumbling with the keys in the rusting lock.

Bakura heaved himself against the door and practically threw himself inside. It was dry, at least that was something. He looked up and around at the dark empty pub.

It was _awful._

The room smelt terribly of beer, urine what Bakura could only describe as mouse-shit. All over the place, chairs and barstools were tipped over and the carpets were fraying seemed to be stained with anything and everything.

Slowly, Bakura made his way around the room, not yet daring to touch anything. Within moments, he spotted a rat scurrying across the floor. His lip curled in mild disgust.

The bar itself seemed to be all right however and he eventually, gently, pulled on one of the beer-taps, a look of amusement across his face.

"Eww, this place stinks!" laughed a voice from behind him. Bakura spun around, blinking in surprise. The idiot from the bus stop stood before him, a foolish grin across his face.

"Man! I took you for a classy guy but this pub is jus-"

"Who let you in?" growled Bakura petulantly. The young man, Marik, simply blinked at him.

"You left the door open for me."

Bakura just stared at him, in slight dismay.

"Why the bloody hell would I do that?"

"Well I don't know, but you friggin' well did!"

"Look, we're not open yet. Get your arse out."

"Well that's just rude! I'm going to tell your mother!"

Bakura sighed heavily ran his hands though his wet, white hair, making it stick up at an odd angle. This, _Marik, _was like some silly child. Some silly child with a bad taste in clothing.

They stood in silence for a while. Only the sound of light rain could be heard through the open door.

"I followed you all the way here, just to be told to _get my 'effing ass out?" _murmured Marik, quietly, his eyes lowered. Bakura cocked his head to one side. It was bizarre. This boy barely knew him yet he seemed so genuinely upset at being asked to simply leave. Bakura considered him for a moment.

"What do you want?" he said, eventually staring hard into the stranger's foolish purple eyes.

"What do I want?" repeated Marik, "Well that's friggin' obvious, isn't it! I want... erm... I want..."

Bakura stared at him, unimpressed.

"You don't actually know, do you?"

"What? Don't be so friggin' stupid! I always know!"

"Know _what?_"

"It doesn't matter!"

"Well clearly it _does. _Because if you don't answer in the next five seconds, I will bloody well throw you out."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Yes."

"...oh. Well, then. I want... world domination?"

Bakura glared at him.

"No? How about a puppy?"

Silence.

"I know! Let's exchange beauty tips! I love what you do with your hair!"

"L'Oreal. Because I'm worth it," Bakura muttered under his breath, almost smiling at this boy's idiocy. Marik just beamed back at him, oblivious.

"Can I stay? Pleeeeeease?" he begged

"...The answer's still no," replied the white-haired boy, but he felt his resolve weakening. He picked up a (rather filthy) glass from the counter, took out a cloth and began wiping it absently.

"Why? Is it the clothes? I know my dazzling fashion sense can be daunting, but I promise I'm an ordinary guy just like you!"

Bakura put down the glass. He felt both angry and amused, but he decided to let the amusement guide him for a while. He didn't really want to make an enemy out of this _Marik- _not that he saw anything wrong with making a few enemies here and there, and this guy was annoying enough to prove a fun one. But still, something about him...

"If you're so keen to stick around, then why don't you work here?"

Marik blinked at him, his large purple eyes betraying surprise and a fair amount of... what? Happiness? Triumph?

"Will you pay me?"

"I suppose."

"How much?"

"Look, I don't know yet. Do you want the job or not?"

Marik considered him for a moment, before winking at him and striking the oddest pose Bakura had ever seen.

"Frig yes!"

Bakura ascended the dark wooden stairs, his hand lightly touching the rotted banister. Behind him, Marik wittered away, skipping stair steps in large childish leaps.

"So what's up here?" asked Marik, thumping up the last couple of steps.

"I don't know."

"You don't _know? _But it's your freaking bar, isn't it?_"_

_"_Yes, but..." Bakura started, but couldn't bother to explain. He was too preoccupied with the state of the up-stairs living conditions; they were filthy. He pulled out the little paper house-plan which had instructions on how the house worked. It had notes on the boiler system, the plumbing, where the bed sheets were...

He opened the door to what must be his 'fully furnished bedroom' and stood there for a moment, staring.

Marik stumbled into the room beside him eventually broke the silence.

"Haha! Your room smells like poop!"

"Oh piss off, Marik." growled Bakura, shutting the door again, "I suppose you've already got a place to stay?"

Marik considered this.

"N-no, not really." he looked down, embarrassed, almost.

"What?"

"I don't actually have...anywhere yet."

"Oh? Well then I _suppose _I might be able to lend you one of my rooms. As part of payment or something..." Bakura trailed off, looking around the dilapidated rooms.

Marik's eyes lit up, and he smiled a ridiculous grin. Bakura, glanced at him a little suspicious.

"What?"

"You'd...really let me stay?"

"...Of course. You work for me, don't you?"

"Yes sir!" Marik did a little salute with his left hand, and winked. He looked rather silly, but Bakura couldn't help smiling. He found that he was quite affectionate of this strange fellow, even if he was a total idiot.

Bakura blinked, and shuddered. How could he be warming to this...this _moron_? His smile was immediately replaced by a stern scowl.

"Alright." he said coldly, pointing to a room sound the landing, "You can have that room."

"Oh boy! I've always wanted my own room!" chirped Marik happily, running down the hall, skidding on the slightly wet floor. Leaks, Bakura noted. Probably a good few.

"I'm going to make this place look so friggin' cool!" he shouted back at Bakura, "I'll see you in the morning, loser!"

Marik disappeared into the room, leaving the door swinging on its hinges. Just as Bakura turned back to his own room he heard Marik's outraged voice call,

"OH NICE, BAKURA. YOU PISSED ON MY BED!"

Bakura rolled his eyes and went to look. It would seem the fool was, however, somewhat justified- there did appear to be a large, possibly damp stain on his sheets (which, Bakura realised, the previous owner had been kind enough to leave unchanged). He sighed.

"I'll look for spares. Stay here and don't do anything weird."

Marik nodded consent, throwing himself down on the bed before remembering the (supposed) pee and scooting away slightly. Bakura noted his movements with interest- the slight, disgusted upturn of his lips, the childish pout- and smiled wryly to himself. This arrangement could prove interesting after all.


	2. Bouza and Cognac

_Mouse: Hey, everyone! Thanks to all of you who added this to your alerts/reviewed/etc! It means a lot to us! So, the usual - it doesn't belong to us, ec. Forgive inconsistencies etc. And... Enjoy!_

_Rabbit: When potatoes are grey, why did Santa tell my children I'm poor?_

_

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Having changed Marik's sheets and made him promise once again to behave himself, Bakura decided to go for a walk, despite the fact that it was nearly dark outside. He liked the dark- besides, he needed to pick up some essentials, and he might as well explore the area a little.

"I'm going out," he called, pulling on his coat. There was a thump, followed by a flurry of swear words, and then Marik appeared at the top of the stairs, the duvet tangled round his waist like some kind of bizarre fashion statement.

"Can I come?"

"'Sorry Marik, but I think it's best if you stay here."

"What? Why?"

"...Listen, I'm leaving, okay?"

"Hey, answer my question, jerk!"

"Bye," said Bakura, and shut the door behind him.

It was fairly cold; being late January, this was hardly surprising, but all the same he shivered slightly as the wind hit him. Drawing his coat tighter round his shoulders, he began to stride purposefully in the direction of the main road.

Bakura walked with his head low, hands in pockets. It was getting rather chilly out but that didn't bother him much; he had too much else on his mind. Far too much.

With quick pace, he passed a small, desolate car park and headed off down a back street. It was quiet except for the satisfying sound of cars speeding by on the main road, not far from him. Bakura liked that there was noise. It kept his mind busy.

His gaze didn't lift much further than the pavement for a while but he soon found himself peering into shops, and generally scouting out the area for later exploration. After all, if he intended to spend a good deal of time here, it wouldn't hurt to get to know the place.

He passed an old fashioned cheese-shop, glancing in through the windows as he went and briefly considering actually going in. Eventually, he decided he would need some form of groceries, though perhaps not the kind he would acquire from here. He smiled a little at his own independence, and headed out onto the main road.

It was surprisingly busy, despite the time of evening. The street was full of last-minute shoppers; businessmen hurrying along whilst yammering on the phone, couples holding hands as they walked, dog-walkers pulled along by overexcited pets and families laden with shopping bags. Bakura felt a little out of place as he set off at a leisurely gait, but nobody seemed to notice him and he found himself beginning to relax into the murmurs of everyday life.

He crossed a road, feeling a little self conscious, and quickly ducked into the closest shop.

Once inside, he blinked, flooded by the bright, artificial lights of the inside. It was much warmer inside, however, and it seemed like a rather straightforward grocery shop. He looked to his left, where a stack of shopping baskets had been neatly piled. Looking around, almost cautiously, he grabbed a basket and began to explore each aisle in great detail.

_Vegetables, fruits, meats, dairy, canned food, pastries..._

Suddenly, a thought hit him. He frowned and dug quickly into his pockets.

No money.

But that wasn't to bother him, no. A simple chain store like this would be a breeze to rob, he thought happily, striding purposefully down the aisle, basket in hand.

He took out his shopping list from inside his coat and checked it. Milk, eggs, tea, bread, spirits to stock the bar, coffee, jam, butter, sellotape, plasters, shampoo, soap, a flannel; toothpaste and strawberry pudding. He didn't quite remember putting that down, but he supposed he must've had a reason, and seeing as he wouldn't be paying... he shrugged and began filling his basket, trying his best to look like a normal shopper.

On reaching the desserts aisle, however, he found his path blocked as he bumped into something. In front of him stood a man- and he was extremely tall. He had dark skin and blonde hair that stuck up all over the place, and he reminded Bakura rather distinctly of Marik, right down to the jagged eyeliner adorning his cheekbones. However this man's eyes were a much deeper colour than the lavender of his doppelganger; they were a dark, chaotic purple, and something about those eyes brought up an odd feeling in the white-haired man. Disgust, perhaps? Fear? Or... nostalgia? Somewhere in his head, there was a flash of silver, but he quickly suppressed it.

The taller man turned to face him, and as he did so something fell to the floor in front of him. A box of... strawberry pudding? Bakura felt his eyes move to the shelf behind the Marik-look-alike. It was empty.

"Where are your manners?"

Bakura glared up at the speaker, but did not move. There was no chance in hell that he was taking orders from a man in a cape. He bent down and reached for the pudding, intending to simply walk away, but-

"...No? All right. That tears it. And by it, I mean your face."

The shorter man blanched slightly. Surely it was a joke?

...Evidently not, as there was now a knife in said face.

He began to back away slowly, still clutching the strawberry pudding defiantly. He dumped it in his basket and began to run. The stranger followed, his jewellery clinking as he laughed gleefully, holding the knife out in front of him. Bakura turned, running past the meat section- when an idea struck him. He jumped over the counter and grabbed a knife out of the hand of a rather bewildered-looking butcher, and whipped round to face his new enemy, who was now advancing towards him slower than before, a malicious smile gracing his lips. Bakura jumped down from the counter and gripped the knife.

"You shouldn't steal knives, you know," said a voice behind them.

Bakura twisted around to see who had spoken, whilst trying desperately to stay facing his new enemy. He caught a brief glimpse of the voice but found his attention pulled more so to the glaring threat in front of him.

"Well? Say something!" demanded the tall, cloaked figure, who was thrusting the knife dangerously close to Bakura's face, his dark purple eyes blazing out at him. Bakura, in an attempt to move away, stumbled backwards and managed to land clumsily on his backside, dropping his own knife.

"Oh, bugger it!" he shouted in agony clutching his right knee, but the man simply laughed dryly and knelt down before him.

"I believe you have something for me, binky boy?" sneered the Marik-look-alike. Bakura's eyes flashed. This was too weird.

"You care so much about something as foolish as this?" spat Bakura, gripping the pudding tightly in his hands. Feeling rather ridiculous, he waved the box above his head. He didn't care whether the situation was strange or not; this guy was really pissing him off.

"You can. Clearly." grinned the stranger with a malicious look playing around his eyes, "So tell me, what's a skinny little boy like you messing with me for?" Bakura only laughed at this.

"Oh, make somebody happy and mind your own business."

"Well!" he breathed melodramatically, pressing the cool steel knife against Bakura's neck, "Congratulations! You've made it to my list of most hated people and it only took three minutes."

"I'm certain it usually takes four, with a temper like yours. What was your name?"

"Well you've got a mouth on you. It's Melvin, actually."

"Yes well-" started Bakura; however, he was interrupted by childish moaning from behind, followed by a clattering of metal against metal.

"But big brother!" whined the voice, "I don't want to sit here! Why do we even need a shopping-cart in the first place?"

Bakura turned his head ever so slightly, not daring to let the knife catch on his neck. He could see that the tanned stranger, Melvin, had glanced up to look too. Behind him a very tall, young man with short trimmed hair was forcing a little boy into a shopping trolley. The younger lad in question - he looked around five or six years old- had a mess of black hair and was flailing his arms about rather helplessly against his brother's will.

"Shut up, Mokuba!" snapped the older boy, his long white coat almost twirling around his legs. Quickly, he noticed Bakura and the tanned man staring at him curiously and strode purposefully up to them.

Suddenly, without a word, he yanked the knife from the Marik-look-alike, who merely growled in surprise.

"Hey! What gives-?"

"I told you..." he said coldly, picking up the knife that Bakura had dropped, "...You shouldn't steal knives."

With that, the man slid the knives into his inner coat-pocket.

"Seto..." said the little boy from the trolley, weakly, "...I still don't-"

Still in a state of mild shock, Bakura stumbled to his feet. Although this tanned stranger, Melvin had just threatened his life, this second man had made the two of them seem like childish idiots. The nerve! The albino found himself ready to give the tall figure a piece of his mind when he realised that Melvin had beaten him to it.

"Don't just walk off you filthy scum!" he shrieked, grabbing the tall man's coat. The man spun around with mild shock, his eyes flicking from his coat to Melvin.

What happened next was rather odd. Bakura noted that the white-coated man stumbled backwards, and hundreds of knives clattered out of his inner-coat pockets. Small, pathetic table knives mostly. They simply dropped by the dozens, nearly flooding around his feet. It seemed to last a good minute to Bakura.

"...What the bloody hell...?" stared Bakura, his mouth open slightly.

Above them, the shop tannoy boomed and the voice of a snobbish young man could be heard saying:

"Attention, attention. Could the three men on Aisle Four please leave immediately, and we won't press charges. Probably."

There was a silence, before he added,

"Goodness, Seto, I thought you were above this sort of nonsense. What next? You'll take all my spoons? Oh well. That is all."

The speakers clicked and there was silence once again. The three men stared at each other for a moment before the young boy- Mokuba, he had been called- giggled quietly from the shopping-cart.

"It's funny..." he laughed, cramming his fist in his mouth, "...because actually we were going to take forks next."

There was silence for a moment. The strange brown-haired man- Seto- was glaring around at nothing in particular as he picked up the knives and stashed them back underneath his coat, while Mokuba giggled silently from his trolley. Melvin appeared to have forgotten all about his argument with Bakura and was now examining a shelf of baby food curiously. Bakura was simply standing there, unamused. He was about to speak, when the tannoy sounded once more:

"I warned you, Seto. Well, it looks like I'm going to have to come down there... pity. For you, anyway!"

Seto swore loudly, picked up the last of the knives and began striding towards the exit. Mokuba, apparently forgotten, grabbed the sides of the trolley and started pushing is along as best he could whilst still sitting in it, cursing bitterly under his breath.

"I can see you, you know. Don't bother trying to escape," came the voice again.

Bakura exhaled in resignation and began to back away down the aisle. Melvin looked up from his tins of baby food for a second to give him a curious look, and then simply picked up a jar of pickles, put it on the shelf with the baby food and began peeling off the labels on both products, smirking deviously.

'_To each their own_,' he thought, amused.

And he grabbed his basket and ran out of the shop.

* * *

He ran through the cool night, allowing the evening wind to whip his hair all around his face. It felt good to be out of that bright supermarket and back onto the street again. Cautiously, he turned his head to check if anyone had been following him. No. It seemed clear; he began walking again.

While shifting through the pitiful contents of his shopping basket, he took a moment to consider what that bastard Marik might have done while he was out. The fool was barely competent enough to be left by himself in a normal situation, let alone in a stranger's run-down pub.

Bakura rounded a corner and passed by the cheese shop again, still thumbing through the contents of the basket.

He pondered for a moment, why this strange boy had needed the job anyway. Surely he had his own business to be getting on with?

Bakura hurried across the empty road, which lead to the tavern.

Marik was so useless and yet he had been left on his own? In fact, left alone in the pub, he had probably managed to break a window, or fall down the stairs, or set something on...

"FIRE! Oh sweet friggin' hell!" came a panicked shriek from down the road, "Oh geez! Oh 'eff! Help, damn it!"

Bakura stopped and stood still for a moment. A disbelieving laugh escaped his lips. This was not happening. No way.

"...You have got to be bloody kidding me." he murmured, breaking into a sprint. From where he was, he could easily see the tavern, and although it was not visibly burning, it was clear from the way Marik was shouting and waving at him that there was something wrong.

Gasping for breath, Bakura ran at the boy and shook him roughly by the shoulders, panting furiously,

"W-what? What the...What the hell have you done...?"

"What have I done? You didn't come back! This is your fault," shrieked Marik, almost hysterically.

Bakura threw his hands in the air, still unable to talk properly, "But Marik," he said, between gritted teeth, "What is my fault? What's happened! You said, 'fire'?"

"Oh, well, it's more like..." started Marik, chewing on his thumbnail, "...Your toaster was really old and it sort of uh, poofed out on me. There were sparks and everything! Friggin' sparks!"

"...But no fire?"

"Well no, but there could've been!"

"What was all the yelling about, you nonce? People might've come to help you! People with better things to do!"

"No need to _shout_, Bakura!"

"Yes, but you can't just-" Bakura ran his hands though his hair in frustration. At least there wasn't a real problem here, but still he felt somehow more annoyed by the false alarm. "...You can't scare me like that." he finished, staring right into the boy's eyes. "I thought it was a real emergency. Have you never heard of the 'Boy who Cried Wolf'? Honestly, Marik..."

Marik was quiet for a while. He avoided the 's gaze and instead kicked at the gravel around his feet. After a while, the boy spoke,

"...Bakura?" he said, uncertainly, almost meeting his eyes.

"Yes?"

"...Do you have a toaster that actually works?"

Bakura stared at him for a second before whacking him, hard, on the head.

"Ow ow owww! What was that for? Frig you! It's all your fault anyway! Yes, indeed! After all, it was _your_ toaster that went and freaking died on me! Keep this up and I'll quit! I mean, its rather insulting behavior. Do you want to wake up with cockroaches in your bed? Or maybe I'll put them in your toaster. Ha! Yes! How very fitting that would be!"

There was silence.

"...Are you quite finished?"

"Perhaps. For now."

And without another word, Bakura led his... _exasperating_ new employee back inside.

* * *

_...And there you have it! Reviews are very very nice and if you review then you are extremely special and you get a shiny sticker. Peace out. c:_


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